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Aug 24, '08 10:41 PM
for everyone |
i have the malady of going inside a bookstore each time i'm in a
mall. can't help it. worse, i have this habit of buying a pen and whatever kind
of paper - stationery, colored paper, small pads, different colors and sizes of
post-it, and sometimes, a page marker or two. there are instances i even buy a
pentel pen for no reason at all, other than i am in a bookstore and i have to
buy something for writing. ya, ya...it's a waste of money, i know. but as i
said, can't help it.
there used to be a time when writing implements were expensive. i think the generation now and in the future are very very lucky in that they have all these writing gadgets now in all shapes and colors, at such low prices. hmm...which makes me realize now that since i lost my jewelry box, and some prized watches with my constant relocation, the only collection that i have intact is that of my good pens - especially fountain pens (i still keep a bottle of dad's quirk). i wonder which nephew appreciates them? my nephews, like the rest of their generation, are hooked on video stuff and the internet, and one nephew of mine who draws, actually does it thru computers. i swear, the things i can pass down to them are worthless in their day and age. the pens i have to decide on, but the books i already decided. i asked my sister to please donate to a public science high school all the classics and great books i keep (i gave away the bestsellers to my mom and brother) if and when i all of a sudden die. surely, there must be some kids now and in the future who still value and appreciate - and hopefully adore - the written word, old-world style.
scribbling my thoughts, i admit, is easier on the computer. i can delete right here and now. but somehow, there is a different pleasure derived from holding a pen in your hand and putting a piece of paper on the desk, and writing your thoughts away. writing a poem, for example, directly to a monitor just doesn't give context and ambiance to the endeavor. maybe i come from the 19th century but for me, it takes an open space, the wind blowing through my hair, green all around, and silence - pure unadulterated silence, to put my thoughts on verse. and how do i record this verse? thru pen and paper, of course.
a man carries his daughter and the girl smiles - it's enough to make me grab a pen. i read a heartwarming article and immediately, tears sting my eyes - it's time to grab a paper. i sometimes wonder if there is something fundamentally wrong with me - my brain, perhaps? my heart? i cannot control the surge of emotions at the simplest things! i must capture the moment, not thru a picture, but pen and paper.
i have read psychology books and now doubt i took up the wrong course, and maybe wrong again now in my continuance of a doctoral course. scientists say the kind of person i am is "sensitive" and should be in the arts. i'm almost 40 and nowhere am i in the field of the arts, hahaha! life is queer; you take a turn and then your course at some point becomes irreversible. but the ink is in my blood, and as i grow older, i find that this sensitivity is heightened. as i grow older, tears come unbidden, sudden - from a deep appreciation of the sheer genius of men and women who write from some heavenly places and times. or from a stunning dialogue in a movie from a script written by some gods in a seemingly another dimension. the genius of it! the talent of being able to express in words the deep message in the proper sentence structure, cadence of letters and rhythm of the intent!
i'm sure, even if those hollywood people finished the script using some hi-tech laptop, the origin of the thoughts, the feelings, and all the heart - they first scribbled by pen on paper. it's the way turgenev or poe did, their friends - and for sure, the grandson of zeus called robert frost.
there used to be a time when writing implements were expensive. i think the generation now and in the future are very very lucky in that they have all these writing gadgets now in all shapes and colors, at such low prices. hmm...which makes me realize now that since i lost my jewelry box, and some prized watches with my constant relocation, the only collection that i have intact is that of my good pens - especially fountain pens (i still keep a bottle of dad's quirk). i wonder which nephew appreciates them? my nephews, like the rest of their generation, are hooked on video stuff and the internet, and one nephew of mine who draws, actually does it thru computers. i swear, the things i can pass down to them are worthless in their day and age. the pens i have to decide on, but the books i already decided. i asked my sister to please donate to a public science high school all the classics and great books i keep (i gave away the bestsellers to my mom and brother) if and when i all of a sudden die. surely, there must be some kids now and in the future who still value and appreciate - and hopefully adore - the written word, old-world style.
scribbling my thoughts, i admit, is easier on the computer. i can delete right here and now. but somehow, there is a different pleasure derived from holding a pen in your hand and putting a piece of paper on the desk, and writing your thoughts away. writing a poem, for example, directly to a monitor just doesn't give context and ambiance to the endeavor. maybe i come from the 19th century but for me, it takes an open space, the wind blowing through my hair, green all around, and silence - pure unadulterated silence, to put my thoughts on verse. and how do i record this verse? thru pen and paper, of course.
a man carries his daughter and the girl smiles - it's enough to make me grab a pen. i read a heartwarming article and immediately, tears sting my eyes - it's time to grab a paper. i sometimes wonder if there is something fundamentally wrong with me - my brain, perhaps? my heart? i cannot control the surge of emotions at the simplest things! i must capture the moment, not thru a picture, but pen and paper.
i have read psychology books and now doubt i took up the wrong course, and maybe wrong again now in my continuance of a doctoral course. scientists say the kind of person i am is "sensitive" and should be in the arts. i'm almost 40 and nowhere am i in the field of the arts, hahaha! life is queer; you take a turn and then your course at some point becomes irreversible. but the ink is in my blood, and as i grow older, i find that this sensitivity is heightened. as i grow older, tears come unbidden, sudden - from a deep appreciation of the sheer genius of men and women who write from some heavenly places and times. or from a stunning dialogue in a movie from a script written by some gods in a seemingly another dimension. the genius of it! the talent of being able to express in words the deep message in the proper sentence structure, cadence of letters and rhythm of the intent!
i'm sure, even if those hollywood people finished the script using some hi-tech laptop, the origin of the thoughts, the feelings, and all the heart - they first scribbled by pen on paper. it's the way turgenev or poe did, their friends - and for sure, the grandson of zeus called robert frost.
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